| 17:02:39 8 March 2005
On forum: 10/06/2003
Message edited by:
No, don't kill the silence! What did I do to deserve this? *clutches chest, falls over*|
Anyway, it's an interesting start. I like it. The dialogue is good, and it keeps you intrigued as you read. Starts you to wondering what happened, and who those other 4 men are. You've definitely improved on your writing; I can see the little things in this that weren't in you other works.
Oh, and assassin is spelled with two, uh, 'ass' -es. lol
Anyway, good job.
If the Boss says the passing crow is white, you must agree. --Yakuza saying
| 12:03:46 7 March 2005
back with a vengeance
On forum: 07/31/2003
Message edited by:
To Kill 5 men.|
Just starting on this one, probably gonna take quite a while since I'm officially a university student now. But what the heck, something to kill the silence.
To Kill 5 men
He watched. His eyes never moved from his target, his hands never touched the plastic cup of vodka on the bench of the bar. He observed from the side of the bar at his target like a bird of prey, stalking and ready to kill when the times came.
This time he was ready. Unlike last time. And if there was supposed to be any doubt within his mind that that was not the case, the heavy bulge of the H & K Mk 23 SD pistol pointed to the truth.
Behind him, his cup of vodka was untouched for hours. The attending bartender found it odd, but he had seen it too many times. Stalkers who had just witnessed atrocities of some sort, or even killed for the first time. They called it "Post-traumatic Syndrome", but The Bartender just called it "Taking out the heat". And so he lefted him alone.
"Hey, buddy, spare me a drink?" Someone said to him in Russian.
"Get lost." He said, without turning his head.
"Suit yourself," the disgruntled person mumbled incoherently and walked away.
He watched. He observed. He stalked.
They called themselves stalkers, those patrons. Including his target, who was still talking and laughing loudly in the middle of the bar. But it didn't matter now, he was one of them now. He was a stalker, stalking his target in the middle of a crowded bar.
One by one, they left. Finally, it came down to him, his target, and three other friends of his target. In that moment in time, only 5 people existed in his psyche.
His target was a fat, 6 foot tall stalker who looked as if he had never done any real work in his life. Indeed, that was the truth. Because that was why he hated him so much- the target had caused him so much hurt in the past.
He cringed, closed his eyes to stop the flood of memory. No, not now. He did not want to be remembered of them now.
He stared at them, his face void of any expression. Watched as they laughed about their exploits, watched as they gulped down glasses and glasses of vodka. Let them drink, for their time had come. The time of retribution.
He once had a name... Bogdan, wasn't it? "Gift from God" in Russian. Today, God had forsaken his target, if God ever existed at all. He has been waiting too much for too long. But now... every moment of waiting was worth it, for vengeance was at hand. It was the gift from God alright.
With his left hand, he grabbed the vodka and gulped it down. The burning sensation of alcohol as it ran down his throat. Some sort of flame was bursting within him. Suddenly, he felt different... like he was on fire. "Man on fire"... yes, that fitted him perfectly.
He took off his seat with force. With careful calculated stride he walked towards the table where his targets and his friends were at. His right hand went inside his jacket, and out came the the grey piece of deadly pistol.
One of them saw him coming, stared right into his deadly eyes, and knew what was coming. He tried to reach for the AK-74 below him, just around his leg. He even tried to shout out a warning. But alcohol slowed down his responce. It never worked out for him.
The first shot went directly into his head.
The rest saw their comrade's head severed by the power of a 0.45 JHP. They too panicked. Without thinking much, they too fumbled for their rifles somewhere on their floor, not knowing that it was already too late to stop the assassin.
'Pfft'. 'Pfft'. Two silenced headshots instantly killed the other two targets, under the stalker's trained hands. The only now remaining was his original target, the person who he had always wanted.
His target now tried to lift up his rifle, a LR-300. The killer sneered. Nice rifle, he thought.
He aimed for the head, but this time, as he fired, the shot didn't go into the head. It went straight into his throat and sprayed blood everywhere. With a tumbling motion, his target felled , back and chair both to the floor.
The assassin walked calmly towards his target, and stood in front of the target.
The target, now on the floor, looked at him, disbelieved in whatever had happened within in the past minute. His eyes told of confusion. He even tried to speak, but out came wheezing noise of air from the bloody hole in his neck.
The assassin leaned down and looked at the man face to face, into the eye.
"You remember me? No? I remember you. You took away everything that was dearest to me, 5 years ago. Oh yes, you've sinned too much to remember. Remember the Bogdan family from Bila-Tservka?"
The eyes suddenly spoke ot terror.
"Yes. Now you remember. Die"
One shot ended the man's misery.
As the stalker walked away, suddenly, he heard a tumbling noice of a chair coming from the bench. His gun swung towards the direction...
The stalker looked at the bartender, who too was terrified from what just happened.
"You never saw anything. Got it?" The Bartender nodded.
"One down. Four more to go," the stalker mumbled as he walked casually out of the bar, disappearing into the night.
Great, independant Iraq War journalism: http://michaelyon.blogspot.com/
From the halls of Montezuma To the shores of Tripoli'
We fight our countrys battles In the air', on land, and sea.
First to fight for right and freedom , And to keep our honor clean,
We are proud to claim the title Of United States Marines.
Our flags unfurl'd to every breeze From dawn to setting sun';
We have fought in every clime and place Where we could take a gun.
In the snow of far-off northern lands And in sunny tropic scenes,
You will find us always on the job - The United States Marines.
Here's health to you and to our Corps Which we are proud to serve;
In many a strife we've fought for life And never lost our nerve.
If the Army and the Navy Ever gaze on Heaven's scenes,
They will find the streets are guarded By United States Marines. - US Marines Hymn